#varyn x obella 02

[prodixal]

@wingsd || obella targaryen

The battle may have ended, his injuries still ached, and yet there was so much anger, so much adrenaline still brewing within. He could not well visit a brothel, or drink himself stupid -- so he entered the fighting pits at the very start of twilight and lost track of time. Eventually, he was starting to feel more like himself, the pain was now...almost entirely external. He walked through the crowd, pushing people out the way as he almost blindly collapsed over the counter and ordered a drink. Once he'd turned around to scan the room, he'd spotted her, instantly, as he always did. With a smile on, fake and cheeky, he'd approached her still somewhat out of breath and his heart pounding. Though he did not know if such a beat was adrenaline or the presence of her. "If it isn't the snake straight out the dragons den." he says, stepping in almost entirely too close. "I would congratulate you but..." he shrugs, smile only halfway at his lip. "I am testing out this whole truth thing and, well, the truth is --" what was the truth anyway? She belonged with him? "'Suppose I don't want to." shrug and he'll step away, lifting a random man by the collar to empty the table for the both of them. "Come, drink with me. Before you're knocked up and have to leave all this fun stuff behind."

[prodixal]

He waits for her words to make him feel something. She could always make him feel something. A sense of belonging, a relief of being understood. And yet, when her question shifts back his way, and he is put in a position to share his own vision, his own understanding of the reflection he had known so well, his soul remains steady, and the answer same as it had always been. "Wanna know what I see?" his brow rises, and he leans back into the chair. Not as a man playing games, nor a friend she'd so well known, not a warrior or a father or a husband or a master of fucking coin. Simply as himself. And his voice reflects the masks which had fallen down, for it is stoic and simple and lacking in arrogance. It is coated in raw honesty as he looks at her once again same he would a stranger. After all, that is what she had been, what she will always be -- a stranger. "I see nothing." he says, lip pursing for a moment as his eyes shift to the cup in his hand that now circled the liquid atop the wooden table at his side. "I see not a single fucking thing. And yet..." he moves, in his seat, brows furrowed. "Everybody sees something, when they look at me. Everybody...expects something. Perhaps I am truly the master of giving the wrong impression or....well, people cannot comprehend someone like me could truly exist. Someone who is void, and empty...and nothing." pause, and he'll look at her again. "That is what I see." Varyn snaps out of it then, as if life had entered his eyes once more. Impulses which made him, thoughts which came and went. In this moment he was alive, and that is all he will ever truly know -- moments, stitched together into something of substance. "How fortunate for me then..." he says at her musings, and somehow the truth of it bothers him all the same. "That I am ruthless, and loved regardless." it was almost suffocating. Or it would have been, had it not felt so good to be loved. In spite who he was, in spite the fact he was nothing. "Fortunate for you too." The temper of Dorne scorched quick and sudden. He was starting to get used to it. Perhaps it is the exact reason his predicament did not surprise him, even if it did somewhat amuse him. And while normally, he would let her have the moment, let her have his balls in a figurative twist and assume her superiority. This time he felt a strange need to remind her he too was taught by Dorne, and daggers only ever came so close because he had allowed them to. Because he had trusted her. -- Without any further hesitation, with his head still pulled backwards by long fingers tangled within his hair, he will push her off and remove the dagger with quick finesse, only to get up on his feet and slam it on the table beside her in a moment where he does not allow for his anger to overcome him. "No." he says to her request at an apology. "I enjoy you, Bells, I do --" he says, throat clear, voice stern and utterly sincere. "Do not threaten me again." He steps back from her then, too smart to turn his back on her until he reaches the counter where he drops four silver coin for the drinks and collects his reward for the night in the pits. He will nod her way once more then, and leave out the door.

She does not care for riddles now either, heat rising up the nape of her neck. Though, it were not from the touch that skims across warmed skin, it were the bite behind words that irritated her in the moment. He asks her what she sees, and the annoyance fades for a moment, her gaze lingering on him. Now, her features shift, unveiling the mask of her riddles. "I see a man." She finally breathes, and then she glimpses at him once more. "Who found purpose beyond sword, and coin, and women, but fears he will fail it - as it were failed of him." Her gaze shifts, she looks back to him, her brows furrowing for a moment. "Why is it, time and time again you concern yourself with what it is that I see? You always ask. Perhaps I should ask, instead, what is it that you see of yourself? When you are alone, and there are no watchful eyes, do you see a man? A sword? Father? Husband?" They often did this, in moments alone. He searches for it in her. His eyes look for her, as if she saw the answers for him. She thought good of him some days, others she couldn't be bothered to think of him at all. Perhaps they were the same that way.

"To be loved.." She breathes, the concept not unforgiven to her. She had been loved by many. She had been adored. She had been worshipped by others, pleading and begging for a hand she refused to give until it benefited her in ways she thought useful. She had loved, but not as one does a lover. Her heart did not beat with another's name, as if the soils of the world would crack beneath her feet if she not near them, if something happen to them. She wore warmth as she did a cloak, she was not cold, by any means. But she did not seek to be loved as he did. She did not seek to love, as Ashara had. It was not withered beneath her soul or cracked between ribs that sprouted flowers. And perhaps, it was made them alike- but entirely different. "Is to be seen." The only issue that occurs when one is seen, is if they're surrounded by mirrors of themselves. Reflections they've rippled across the water, to those watching. Eventually, those ripples would expand, until they were gone entirely. Until there were no one to skip stone, any longer. Varyn would one day, lay rest along the water, where the stones grew silent. Still, there was not sting to his words. She cared little for him assuming her cold, it did not matter to her. "And yet the ruthless outlives the loved." She mutters back, intently.

Her patience grew thin again, she gave him warning before. Had he forgotten her a woman of her word? Her frame is close, her nose nuzzling just inches away, and should she take it- she could have it. As she feels the breath of his lips part, his frame all but moments from taking her, and breaking all truth he'd considered spoken. However, one hand on his nape, the other is slipped behind her back, clasping the metal between fingertips that was seethed under her coat. In a moment of swiftness, his hair is knotted between her grasp, and as his lips are seconds away from bliss his body is yearning towards, there is a yank- harsh in nature, pulling the crane of his head back under her tightened fist. The other hand is just as quick, the dagger slammed between his legs against the wood of the chair, a mere few inches from his manhood. Enough to frighten him, nearly enough to nick the skin, should he move at all. "Speak ill of him again, and dickless shall be your next battlename." She remains the dagger where it was, should he tempt her. "Apologize."

[prodixal]

"I may speak in lies but I hardly ever speak in riddles my beautiful snake. It is much easier to deceive than to spew out puzzles." he rolls his eyes, truly Varyn could grow frustrated at times with how witty the other could be. She'd thought too highly of him, thought him smarter than he was. And while it used to make him feel rather flattered, now he cared little for it and wished to speak plainly. And she would give him that directness, it seems, with the questions that followed. A huff of a laugh will escape him as she calls him a truthspeaker, sarcasm was not lost on him. "And how am I living a lie, oh wise one? It seems everyone knows me better than I know myself these days. Tell me, when you look at me, what exactly is it you see?" his head tilts to the right, eyes narrow beneath the dim lights as they search for something in hers. A recognition, perhaps, sympathy. It mattered little. "Certainly it is best to go where one is wanted. Only when I do so you call it a lie." he muses, his hand still on her knee as his index traces it in a slow circular motion. "I care more to be loved, than to love. The latter comes and goes." it was honest truth, really, perhaps in that regard they could be much the same. He had doubted Obella had sudden love for her prince. "It is hard to burn when you are made of ice Bells, you are one cold ruthless bitch and I could not think of a better match for you than the dickless prince." he chuckles then, placing the cup to his teeth. "I am certain you will find all the enjoyment you'll ever need, tangling him up in your little strings -- how fortunate for me to sit at court, to watch as you consume him for all that he's worth." At the mention of jewels and wedding in secret, his eyes will roll. She had known the full story, the reality of things. He had come to her the night before, he had come in her the night before. A thought which sparked a smirk to spread to his cheeks. -- And yet it seemed she was more than willing to hit below the belt all the same. Such was their relationship, there was much space for judgment. Sarcasm drapes his own words then, and he will lean back in the chair. "What can I say? We were so madly in love we just...could not wait to get our blessings from the gods -- and permission to unleash our desires upon one another. It is awfully difficult to wait, my balls were getting all sore and blue. It was agony." he laughs, but his eyes do not falter, not even as she gets closer, as she's wrapped around him, as she teases. He will tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes passing over her features, down to her lips, her neck her breasts. And when the words process through his thick skull, he will frown and withdraw his hands to reach for his cup again. "You jest." he says, no way in hell that little boy could outdo him in such a way. "Just as well, I did not expect the truth."

"And you assume that you are not, and yet you digress that I am speaking in said riddles." She hums to herself, though her thoughts are kept quiet as well. Part of her wonders where this thought of truth came from, and if it were truth he sought out then she should remind him of it. So, she leans closer as he so seldom did. Her gaze shifted along his features with the taste of her cup on his breath, he found joy in stealing what was not of his. He always had. "Truthspeaker, tell me- if it is the truth you're sought after.." Her hand reaches up, draped along the curve of his jaw where fingertips delicately trace along the beard that grows there. "Why is it you are living in lie?" Tongue parts past her lips, her gaze warmed by the light of the tavern or the mule of the table. The man she knew, did not care for feelings, nor did he endure the wrath of his lies. Perhaps he was the one with the riddles, after all. "I go where I am wanted." And where she is not. "My dragon has wrath within him. And you do know of.." Words trail off as she pulls back only a moment. "I adore the fire. And yet, I do not burn." Her smile widens, a rare moment in which it spread across her features as she buzzes with the allure of it. The way his gaze is so captured, but only in fleeting moments. But all moments nonetheless, they were reminded of that. "Perhaps." It rolls off her tongue, the laughter soft caught between the two of them, as his hand boldly reaches for her. She will cross one knee over the other, so that his trailed fingertips may burn with desire across flesh, purposefully allowing the slit in her gown to shift to the touch. In truth, her priorities were hers. She was truthful in saying, her devotion is to her dragon prince. His seed should be the only that sprouts roots within her, and yet- she had said it anyways, if only to lull the thoughts from Varyn in the wickedness that she was. Bastard, she'd thought- how apples only far so seldom far from the trees that grew them, and that she knew true, of the truthspeaker himself. She leans her back against her chair, and hums to herself. "They were rubies of Dorne, perhaps had you not wed your bride in secret, I would allowed her to adorn them." Pity, the Lady Ashara would have been lovely in wedding jewels. And yet, she simply can not allow the distaste in her mouth. Not of the Lady, nor because she is his wife- for what room would she have to be of judge? But because of the allowance. How she did not make The Lord Lannister of the Lions Den suffer, for a bleeding heart? Varyn was close to her, and despite her admiration for who he was, deepened to his core, vile and vulgar at times as he were alluring. She could not imagine what it must have been like, to live and adore with little to no consequences for ones actions. To live as a man -- was to live without conviction.

And so, she would remind of that conviction, when time calls for it. She wraps an arm around his shoulder, her frame closer now as she's practically draped across his lap. His hair twisted in patterned circles around her index finger absentmindedly. Her gaze is met with fire, pursing her lips before speaking. "My body ached for days after." The lull of her tongue clicks to the roof of her mouth. "Far better than our first," She must restrain the smirk that corners against brims. "And much longer, as well."

[prodixal]

Smirk enters his features and he will take the cup from where she had placed it and take long sip. It calms his nerves, somewhat. "Sometimes, dear Bells, you speak in riddles as if I am truly clever enough to understand them." Varyn knew he was not the sharpest blade at the smiths, but he also did not rely on his brain for very many things. "Speak plainly." he says then, but his eyes do roll in indication he knew what the insinuation had been. "Seems truth spares one trouble down the road." it is as simple as that, even if he would not be partaking in the practice faithfully. After all, he sincerely doubted his lady wife would wish to hear of the way he now grabs the chair upon which she sat and drags it closer towards himself. He had always liked keeping her close. "Is that why you slithered into a dragon den instead, little snake?" his finger traces over her knee, eyes fixed upon her as the noise of the crowd fills the silence between them. "And what a happy day that shall be." he could not truly give less of a fuck what her children did or did not do. But he does freeze as she leans in, as her voice drops and he moves forward instinctively to hear. Her breath graces his neck as a shiver passes it down. Then a glint in his eyes will light and he will look at her with recognition and dwell in the pleasure of knowing she did not yet change. Perhaps she never would. She would always be around, ready to be a relentless thorn in his behind. "You tease." he muses, though she had certainly planted the thought just right. More bastards to be had. How witty. Finally, he will lean back in his seat, as the tone turns more forward and solid, and a shrug will pass over his shoulders as he considers the truth he was more than happy to share. "Bit dull for my taste, I have had just about enough of weddings." he takes his cup back from out of her hands and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You looked stunning, truly. Yet..that is nothing new." truth, perhaps it was easier than he thought. "Little prince is a lucky man. Now he will finally have a set of balls at his disposal. Tell me...Obella..." -- "Was your wedding night all that you had hoped it to be?"

She would not wear the crown as a cage, though she spent much time within the dragon's walls these days. Only now, does she find herself where it is she feels at home, despite the blustering fools of men. It was where she feigned damsel, to the northern boy whom she's sure would end up missing or perhaps dead. Pity, she did enjoy him. Needless to say, finding Varyn a King amongst the fools, wasn't a sight she'd least expected. The corners of her mouth are indulged, her eyes shifting to capture is for a moment, only to swiftly take a glance at the one in her seat. It did not take long for him to be removed, and she's in his place. There is a drink across from the Lion's head, and she's taking the cup and shifting it towards him to pour for her. The comment causes the lilt in her smile to deepen, nonetheless. "Does one test out truth, or does one have truth thrust upon them?" She'll place her chin in the palm of her hand. The scars of battle ravished him, as she allured each individual scar of war and blood across his face and body. He stunk of blood, sweat, and mule. And she enjoyed it. As she so often had. "The lions den is much too crowded with snakes for you to miss me, is it not?" A lie, he could have a hundred vipers, and he'd still yearn for the one, she knew this. It had been this way, as it ever was, from days past to now. "One day, from the blood of my womb, my children and their children, shall fly dragons into Dorne." The thought is nearly ravishing itself, though it was not the only reason she sought out what she did. She had many, not of which she would spill so delicately over mule and a sweetened tongue. "Though do not fret, lover." She allows that last bit to roll off her tongue, if only to spite him. If only to tease him, playing the game she knows too well. She leans in, the tilt of a whisper on her breath, though she's merely toying with him. "There are still bastards to be had. " She will take the cup, and drinks it with ease, despite the fact she much preferred the wine within the south, to this. She then glances at him once more. "Tell me, what is it that you thought of my wedding day? Tell me how me of how treacherous I am again, Varyn? Cats have never held their tongue before, nor have I known you to."